Chapter 23
On Thursday night at The Depot, Anson spotted David two seconds before he pulled out a chair at Anson’s table and sat with his arms crossed.
On the high school basketball team, they’d been uneasy allies, bound to each other by their mutual goal of winning.
These days, David seemed to favor only two attachments: his younger sister, Marissa, and his best friend, Sterling.
Since Anson associated with neither, he couldn’t imagine what common interest had inspired this visit.
David seemed content to sit like a ticking bomb, so Anson risked cutting the silence. “What can I do for you?”
David shrugged and looked toward the stage.
Blaze threw her head back, crooning a love ballad. She sounded good—a surprise only because she’d stayed home sick from Rooted the night before.
Anson asked if she needed anything, and she’d replied with two words: Just sleep.
Not sure if she’d take the stage tonight, he showed up anyway. When her voice greeted him, the tension in his chest loosened.
“She tried out for the school musical once.” David’s eyes followed her across the stage. “They turned her down. Said she could sing but not act.”
That was a weird piece of trivia to retain for ten years. “I’m sure she could act if she put her mind to it.”
“Better than Prissy Johnston, anyway.”
“Haven’t heard that name in a long time.” Anson wouldn’t have remembered their school’s biggest theater buff without the prompt. That David retained her name—and had thoughts on her acting skills—suggested he’d paid more attention to their classmates than Anson realized. “What’s she up to?”
“Works for some production company in California.”
“How do you know all this?”
David snorted. “Knowledge is power.”
Knowledge about Prissy Johnston? “All right. I’m curious. Tell me about Blaze and the musical.”
“I think the truth was, she was too good. She would’ve put everyone else to shame. Guess what else she’s too good for.” David raised his eyebrows.
Anson shrugged and shook his head. “Surprise me.”
“You.” David pushed his chair back and braced a hand on the table. As he rose, he paused to catch Anson’s eye. “And if you don’t believe me, it’s even more true.”
Anson opened his mouth to respond, but to say what? That he and Blaze didn’t have that kind of relationship? That, maybe instead of either of them being too good for the other, they actually made sense?
David straightened. “Hurt her, and you’ll have me to deal with.” He clapped Anson on the shoulder and headed for the bar.
When Blaze stepped off stage, Anson met her with a glass of water. She’d finished her onstage water bottle two songs ago, and his thoughtfulness made the drink that much more refreshing. “Thank you.”
He smiled, and she wished he’d slide an arm around her. Wished their closeness on Monday, both emotionally and physically, were the norm and not the exception. Yet for all her wonder at their connection, they still had a lot to learn about each other.
She set the glass on the table. “I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you talk to David before.”
Anson shrugged. “Other than graduating together, we don’t have much in common.”
They might have more in common than Anson realized. David tended to act careless and gruff, but for the right cause, he’d put the welfare of others ahead of himself. “You were in the same bus accident,” she said.
“True. He helped haul people out.” Anson focused on the middle distance. “At the scene, he seemed fine but I hear he passed out at home. Internal bleeding.”
Blaze winced. The refusal to show weakness sounded like David.
“How close are you two?” Anson’s voice lowered into a rumble.
Was he … jealous? The idea was so far-fetched, she laughed. “He’s Marissa’s brother, so he was around a lot. Their mom made him drive us places, since he got his license before we did.”
Anson stuffed his hands in his pockets, eyes narrowed.
David had really done a number on him. “What did he want from you tonight?”
“He says you’re too good for me.”
A half-cough, half-laugh burst from her. David had a lot of nerve assuming they were a couple, let alone playing the older brother stand-in. But his concern for her, as embarrassing and misguided as it was, showcased a certain sweet loyalty. “And no one believes he has a soft side.”
“He did end with a threat of violence.” Judging by his tone, Anson wasn’t worried. At least, not about David’s threat. As he studied her, concern slanted across his features. “How are you feeling? I thought you might not sing tonight, since you weren’t well yesterday.”
“I’m sorry I missed Rooted.” She motioned him to follow her as she stepped past an Employees Only sign. They passed an office, then the hall turned and widened into a coatroom with hooks and a line of mini lockers.
She shrugged into her jacket and spun the combination on her locker to retrieve her purse.
“I’ve been exhausted. I fell asleep at work on Tuesday and struggled all yesterday.
I was in bed before eight.” She pulled the purse over her shoulder and turned to face him. “I hope you and Nolan managed okay?”
“Sure.” A line appeared between his brows. “Is this still the medication?”
Embarrassment sent her toward the hall. It wasn’t a true escape, since he’d follow her, but it spared her having to look at the pity in his eyes. “I’m not sure I’ll last the however many weeks it’ll take to make a difference.”
“I’m surprised you’re trying to last at all.”
“At least the headaches are gone. Maybe one of these days, the fatigue will be too.”
“Isn’t it normal to have to fiddle with the prescription?”
Annoyance begged to fire off a sharp reply, but she forced a deep breath. “It’s also normal to have to wait weeks to see whether it’s working.”
She might not have curbed her frustration as well as she thought because he fell silent. They passed through the event hall and the dining room. At the exit, he opened the door and they started down the stairs.
“The thing is,” he said, “I missed you.”
Her fatigue dropped away, and her feet froze on the bottom riser.
Anson didn’t stop until two steps later. He circled back. His soft smile was hard to read. Apologetic? Inviting? Friendly?
“At Rooted?” she asked.
“Yeah. And I think Hadley missed both you and Mercy.”
That must mean he meant “missed” in a casual, friendly way. Not the kind of pining that might happen if his recent openness with her meant he wanted more than friendship. She resumed her course for her car. “I’ll do my best to keep it a one-time thing.”
“Good. I don’t like you feeling unwell.”
Neither did she, but she chose silence so he wouldn’t start challenging the doctor again.
“You deserve to be healthy. You know that, right?”
She let out a tired laugh. “There are so many people suffering much worse illnesses, and I’d never tell them our health is about what we deserve. It’s not.”
“True. How about this? You deserve an advocate who’ll fight for the best care you can get.”
She managed to suppress her scoff. “Who’s going to advocate for me? You?”
“You. Are you asking Mercy to go through the same things you’re experiencing?”
“For about a week, I did. Then her side effects started going away. We had to adjust her dosage, but she’s doing well.
” Between medication and lifestyle changes, Mercy had managed to remember everything she needed for school each day for a week now.
Their system wasn’t foolproof, but the chaos—where Mercy was concerned—had lessened.
And thank God for that, because Blaze could hardly keep dragging herself forward one day after the next, let alone find the motivation for someone else too.
They reached her car. She unlocked it and turned toward Anson to end the conversation and get herself home to bed. His scent reminded her again of their embrace and tempted her to step forward into his arms. He tilted his head, gaze roving her face.
Touched by his concern, cracks spread in a fragile web across her composure. One wrong move, and she’d shatter into a teary mess.
“It’s okay if you can’t do the corn maze this weekend,” he said.
Was this Saturday November already? She slung her purse into her car with a sigh.
“You forgot?”
She couldn’t hold back the tears and answer, so she hung her head.
“I have it covered. There will be enough other leaders there.”
“But I agreed—” Her voice faltered.
Her hair shifted. Anson brushed a few strands back from her face, somehow without touching her skin. His hand rested on her shoulder. “Your health is more important. How can I help? There must be a way I can make this easier.”
He could actually touch her face. That would distract her from an awful lot of problems. Or he could confess undying love and loyalty. Hey, she was sleepwalking through life. Who could fault her for dreaming a little?
She swallowed. “Not that I can think of.”
“Then I’ll think of something.”